Peregrine's Progress Part 70

"O Perry, I can't--I can't do it--no, no--don't let me go--"

At this I knelt also and thus we faced each other on our knees, as when Love first had found us. And so I clasped and kissed and strove to comfort her, until the pa.s.sion of her grief was abated. "Must I go, dear Peregrine--must I go?" she whispered, beneath my kisses.

"Yes, for the sake of the future--yours and mine. G.o.d keep you and--good-bye, my own Diana!"

Then I arose and left her there upon her knees, looking after me through fast-falling tears and her loved arms stretched out to me in piteous supplication.

"Peregrine," she pleaded, "oh, my Peregrine!"

But I turned away and rushed from the spot, never daring to look back; but ever as I went, that desolate cry rang and echoed in my ears.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX

HOW I CAME HOME AGAIN

"Two years! Emptiness! Loneliness! Two years!" It was in the hurry of my footsteps, birds sang it, leaves whispered it, my heart throbbed to it.

"Two years! Emptiness! Loneliness! Two years!" Sometimes tears blinded me, sometimes anger shook me, but always was the pain of loss, the yearning for that loved and vanished presence.--"Two years!"

More than once I turned to hasten back--to end this misery--back to my Diana, this maid who was more precious, more necessary to my life than I had ever dreamed. I should have but to lift my finger, nay ... one look and she would be in my arms ... so very easy, and therefore ...

so utterly impossible.

Sometimes I hurried on at breathless speed, sometimes crept on slow, unwilling feet, sometimes stood motionless to stare blindly about me, raged at and torn by conflicting thoughts ... agonising ...

irresolute.

How long I wandered thus I cannot say, but the sun was low when, amid the leafy whispering of familiar tree, I heard the cheery ring of the Tinker's anvil.

At sight of me he dropped his hammer and fell back a step.

"Why Peregrine," said he. "Why, Perry lad--don't look so! Is aught wrong?"

"Only my heart is breaking, I think!" said I, and casting myself down at the foot of a tree, I covered my face.

"G.o.d love me!" exclaimed the Tinker; and then he was kneeling beside me. "What is it, lad, what is it?"

"I've sent my Diana from me!"

"Sent her from ye, lad?"

"For two years, Jerry. Two weary years ... emptiness ... loneliness. I have placed her in the Earl of Wyvelstoke's charge ... they start for London at once ... leave England as soon as possible ... she is gone ... two years, Jerry ... two weary years ... desolation!"

"Peregrine," said he in hushed voice, "this was her great wish--to be a lady for your sake. She's told me so many's the time ... an' I caught her in tears over it once."

"I have sent her away, Jerry, for two years!"

"Peregrine," said he, "'t is a fine thing to be a gentleman, but 't is a grand thing to be a man big enough an' brave enough to do such act as this here. G.o.d bless ye, lad!"

"O Jerry--O Jerry, I love her so...! Yearn and hunger for her so much ... it is a pain!"

"Aye, but 't is such pain as makes the strong stronger! 'Tis such love as do be everlasting and reaches high as heaven--"

"Two years, Jerry! Two long, weary years to wait ... to yearn ... to live through without her ... emptiness!"

"Ah, but you've done right, lad, you've done right. And then--what's two years? Lord, they'll soon go! And her love for you'll be a-growin'

with every month--every day an' hour, lad, an' she'll come back t' ye at last, only more beautiful, more wonderful an' more loving than ever she was--"

"O Jerry," said I, grasping at him with sudden hands. "You don't think ... death ... you don't think she may die?"

"Die? What, Ann--s' strong an' full o' vig'rous life? Lord, not she, lad, not she--never think it!"

"Or ... forget me, Jerry?"

"What--Ann? Lord love ye--no! She ain't one to forget or change--never was, an' I've knowed her since a little child. An' she's never loved afore--hated men! An' why? Because 't was always her beauty as they wanted--her body--an' never a thought of her mind, d'ye see! An'

now--she's to travel to see the world, is she! An' with the Earl--an'

him such a great gentleman! 'T is wonderful good fortun' for her, Peregrine, wonderful!"

"Yes, he is a very great gentleman and a truly n.o.ble man, Jerry."

"An' now, what o' yourself, lad?"

"I shall continue to live with you, Jerry; I shall go on smithing and tinkering--yes, harder than ever--"

"No!" said the Tinker, sitting back on his heels and shaking his head at me with the utmost vehemence. "Tinkering ain't for you, Peregrine, an' you can do better things than swingin' a sledge--ah, a sight better!"

"What do you suppose I can do?" sighed I miserably.

"Paint pictoors!"

"Impossible! I shall never be a real painter, Jerry."

"Well, then--write!"

"Impossible! I shall never be a poet, Jerry."

"Well, have you ever thought o' writin' a nov-el?"

"Never!"

"Well, what about it?"

"Impossible! Of what should I write?"

"Why, about HER--Anna, for sure, your Diana as would ha' made a better G.o.ddess than the real one, I reckon."